


What I Wouldn't Do (To Keep You Safe)

by wakeupstiles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Happy Ending, bamf emori, emori saves murphy from ontari, lots of blood and fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakeupstiles/pseuds/wakeupstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would not end until one of them had a blade in their heart or a slit across their throat. It would not be over until one of them was choking on their own blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Wouldn't Do (To Keep You Safe)

**Author's Note:**

> we will never get this in canon. thank gods for fandom.

She had a plan. She always had a plan. She was Emori kom Trikru, she was a warrior, she was a survivor, she was a tornado and acid fog. She was underestimated and lethal, and she had a _fucking_ plan.

**Step One: Get into Polis**

Easy because no one recognized her, though she knew they wouldn’t because nearly every Trikru roamed the streets, tangled with each other, all absorbed within themselves and trading.

**Step Two: Infiltrate the Tower**

Moderate because she was not a familiar face among the Grounders inside there. She kept her head down, stuck close to the wall, didn’t make eye contact with anyone, always with her hand steady on the handle of her dagger.

**Step Three: Kill the Guards**

Still moderate, on the verge of hard because once she got to the tenth floor it was guard central and she was only one person. But she was a woman on a mission and she was not about to die.

Thirteen. She killed thirteen men and women.

As she climbed more stairs she tried to not think about their blood on her tainted hands.

**Step Four: Find John**

Back to easy because once she got to the top floor it was vacant. She checked every room on the floor, running from door to door, hoping that no one would be on the other side except for Murphy. She really didn’t want to kill any more people than she had to—than she already did.

Then she got to the Commanders room. It was the only door she hadn’t opened, the only room she hadn’t looked in. The woman sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, prayed to something she didn’t know existed, and then opened the door. The room, thankfully, was empty, save for the man chained to the wall in the corner.

“John!” She called, a deep breath deflating her chest once she laid eyes on him. She approached him, a weight momentarily lifting from her shoulders, only to come crashing back down once she saw the condition he was in: gashes on his face, healing but aflame, bruised eyes and lips, torn clothes, blood caked hair, skinnier than he was when he’d been taken. Rage swept through her and all she wanted to do was kill the person who’d done this to him, who’d chained him up like a wild animal, but time was thin and they had to leave before the Commander came through her doors.

“Emori—what the hell are you doing here?” He hissed, though leaned into her touch when she placed her hand on his cheek.

She rolled her eyes. “I work for the Commander. What the hell do you think I’m doing here?”

“You can’t—it’s not safe.” His voice was hushed, scared that whoever was passing outside would hear and come in.

Emori nodded. “Which is why we’re leaving.” She grabbed the lock around his neck, gently yanked at it, sighed in frustration when it held tight. “Where’s the key?”

“Ontari has it.” He stated bitterly.

“No matter—“ She froze as a blade whipped past her and stuck into the wall, just grazing her cheek enough to draw a little blood. Murphy’s eyes went wide as he looked in the direction the dagger came from. Slowly, Emori turned and saw the Commander in her doorway threshold, looking as animalistic and deadly as ever.

Emori moved in front of Murphy, never taking her eyes off the other woman. “John, stay here.” She warned.

“Yeah, like I’m going anywhere.” He scoffed and if her heart wasn’t crawling into her throat she would have chuckled. Then, he said, pleading, “Emori, just leave. She’ll kill you. You need to go.”

She turned to look at the Sky Boy, eyes soft and voice sincere, “I’m not leaving without you.” Her voice was on the verge of breaking. She was surprised she was able to keep it steady and strong.

A nasty smirk curled over Ontari’s lips. “Then you will die.” She said a little too happily.

Emori reached back, squeezed Murphy’s hand, then stepped away from him. “Let’s find out.”

**Step Five: Fight the Commander**

Not part of the plan.

Impossible.

Well, nearly. Before Emori was banished from her clan she was a very skilled warrior—her mentor insured it. But compared to an Azgeda Warrior? They were ruthless, agile, fearless. Arguably the most feared warriors of the 12 Clans.

But Murphy was chained to the wall, bloody and bruised, and Ontari was standing in front of her, teeth bared and sword drawn, the hint of a smile in her eyes, daring Emori to charge at her, challenging her to a fight to the death.

So of course, being the woman that she was, Emori obliged.

The Trikru Warrior charged at the Azgeda Warrior, letting out a snarl as she leapt in the air and pounced on the other woman. Ontari fell to the floor, sword flying to the other side of the room. The Commander screeched, elbowed Emori in the eye, sending the woman rolling off of her and quickly jumping back to her feet just as Ontari threw a few daggers in her direction. Emori hissed as one pierced her arm, winced as she grabbed it by the handle and yanked it out of her shoulder, threw it back at the feral woman, who slid out of the way easily with a smirk on her face.

“You will not get out of here alive.” Ontari taunted as she started moving in a circle around the room, crouching down a little, stalking Emori like she was a mouse about to be eaten by a lion.

Emori gave a little smirk, grabbed the machete attached to her back and held it firmly in her grip, so tight her knuckles began to turn white. Across the room she saw Murphy watching with wide eyes and the look of terror on his face. She wanted to tell him that it would be alright, that they were going to make it out, but she didn’t know.

“We will see.” She replied stoically, ready to attack once Ontari made her move.

And made her move she did: she lunged for Emori just as she had lunged at her. Emori ducked, rolled, got back to her feet, spun and kicked her leg out, heel connecting with Ontari’s stomach. Though, instead of falling back she grabbed her foot and swung her to the side, then down on the glass table in the center of the room. Emori felt glass and bone crack beneath her, shards sinking into her back and blood trickling from the wounds. She winced, hissed as she rolled to her feet just as Ontari plunged the point of her sword down where Emori’s face once was.

The woman staggered to her feet, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, machete still in her hand and ready to be used. Ontari composed herself, sword out in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly, the sheen of sweat apparent on her face. Fatigue was starting to settle over both of them, but it would not end until one of them had a blade in their heart or a slit across their throat. It would not be over until one of them was choking on their own blood.

Murphy stayed in the corner, standing and staring, not that he would be of much help since he was shackled to the wall and the chain could only go so far. He was silent throughout watching the two women battle, retreat, battle, retreat. He wanted to help, wished he could just kill the fake Commander, get the key, and run for his life, but if only it was that simple.

Emori was a fantastic fighter, exceptionally skilled, but he could tell she was starting to sway in her stance, and blood soaked through the back of her shirt, jagged glass sticking out of her flesh. If Ontari didn’t kill her then she would surely die from blood loss if those wounds weren’t tended to. But as it was, he couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it. Except watch the woman he…the woman he _cared abou_ t get beaten to death.

The man winced back, cringing as Ontari kicked Emori in the ribs, punched her in the face, swept her leg under her, locked her foot under her ankle and pulled her down. Squeezed his eyes shut when he saw Emori’s machete fly out of her hand. Prayed to a god that didn’t exist when he heard Ontari choking her.

And opened his eyes again when the room was consumed in silence. He didn’t know what to expect; Emori dead on the floor with a smirking Ontari above her, maybe. That’s what the outcome had looked like, anyway, when he’d closed his eyes. But what he saw, what made a tiny whine escape his throat, was seeing Ontari on top of Emori, blood dripping like rain from her neck, eyes wide, jaw slack, nasty gargling sounds bubbling from her throat.

Emori said something in Trigedasleng, lowly at first, then wailed it as she pried Ontari’s fingers from her neck and switched positions so that she was now on top of the dying Commander. Murphy had no idea what the woman had said, but he was sure it wasn’t pretty. Ontari gasped for air, though it was useless because no one could heal from a slit throat, especially with blood flowing out of it like a goddamn waterfall.

The woman muttered something again, this time in English, though her words were soft. Then she plunged the dagger into Ontari’s chest, right into her heart. The Commander sucked in a breath, shuttered, then went still, eyes staring up at her killer, vacant and cold.

Emori reached into Ontari’s pocket, pulled out the key, then stood up from the woman, sheathed her dagger, wiped the blood from her hands on her pants, and made her way to Murphy, who was staring at her with bug eyes and his mouth ajar.

“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice soft and caring.

He blinked. “Am I—? You just—you just did _that_ and you’re asking me if _I’m_ alright?” He stammered in a little daze. “I’m _fine._ Are _you_ alright?” He questioned as she unlocked the heavy chain from his neck. His hands came up instinctively, messaging the sensitive skin there, all the while not taking his eyes off his blood soaked savior.

Emori gave a little nod, walked to the other side of the room and picked up her machete. “We need to leave. More guards will be coming any moment and when they see the Commander dead…” She trailed off, looking down at the crimson drenched woman, her eyes a little sad, her expression forlorn, her lips pinched.

Murphy walked up beside the woman, shook his head. “Trust me, she wasn’t a Commander.” The dark haired woman gave him a sideways look, eyebrows raised in question. He shook his head again, grabbed her hand and tugged it towards the door. “Long story. I’ll tell you some other time when we’re not running for our lives.”

**Step Six: Escape**

They ran until they were out of the city, and then they ran some more. They didn’t stop running. They would never stop running.


End file.
